


one by one

by notanotherdeadpoet



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanotherdeadpoet/pseuds/notanotherdeadpoet
Summary: Each of the boys learns, one by one, that Neil is gone.
Relationships: Steven Meeks/Gerard Pitts, Todd Anderson/Charlie Dalton/Neil Perry
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	one by one

**Author's Note:**

> (Disclaimer: The characters & content of Dead Poets Society do not belong to me. This is a work of fiction, & is in no way canon.)
> 
> I see behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul;  
> O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend
> 
> \--”how solemn as one by one” from leaves of grass by walt whitman

Charlie cannot remember the last time he smoked a cigarette.  
  
He rolls the words around in his mouth, tongue probing against his teeth, scraping away all of the pieces that don’t make sense. _The tense,_ he thinks, trying to remember the right conjugations. He probably shouldn’t have skipped so many study sessions with Meeks, but they didn’t seem to be so important until now. _Now. This moment, right here, right now_. Charlie smirks, opening his mouth just enough to let the air escape, tasting snow & chocolate in Neil’s words before clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth some more. _You shouldn’t grind your teeth so much,_ he hears, before sliding his tongue over each tooth, trying to pinpoint the origin of the pain that slowly spreads to his cheeks, down his neck, snaking its way to his stomach.  
  
Cameron repeats the words somewhere to his right, slowly and matter-of-factly. Charlie licks his lips, wondering why Cameron’s voice no longer tastes the same. _The words aren’t right,_ he thinks, swallowing. Cameron’s voice is usually bread & butter: smooth and crisp, familiar, always there for Charlie to pass over. He wonders at the words, licking his lips.  
  
“Charlie,” Cameron says. _How many times has he said my name?_ He clears his throat, chewing at his bottom lip. _Swollen_ , he thinks. “Swollen,” he says out loud, testing the air. It tastes like static.  
  
“Charlie,” Cameron repeats, slower this time. Softer. _Pancakes. We should get pancakes. Remember when we snuck out, all of us in our pajamas, because Knox brought us wine from the Danburys? Neil and I drank half a bottle each. We walked all through town, eating chocolate and singing even though it was 2 am and snowing. Cameron found us all in a heap of blankets. He had breakfast hidden under his jacket: cold pancakes. My lips were so swollen that I thought I wouldn’t be able to open my mouth._

“Cameron,” Charlie half-slurs. He realizes he’s in last night’s clothes, tugging at his tie; he slides his hand under his shirt, bringing it back up with red paint. _Potent,_ he had told the boys, showing off the red lightning bolt on his chest. His thumb absently rubs at a loose thread. _I wonder if they’ll ever find that button_. He swallows, letting the flavors of last night slide down his throat: fingernails grazing his lips, fumbling at his shirt; sweat coating his teeth; _hunger_ and _urgency_ mixing with his breath as their bodies collided in the wings, twigs catching in his hair.  
  
“Charlie,” Cameron repeats, hands resting on his shoulders. Charlie swallows again, allowing his body to be moved, the gentle fingers on his cheek turning him away from the smoke. “Did you hear me?”  
  
“Yes,” Charlie laughs. He smirks, shrugs, tries to reset himself so Cameron won’t know exactly where his mind had gone. “And I told you, the name’s Nuwanda.”  
  
“Nuwanda,” Cameron tries, and Charlie tastes every letter. _Wrong_. “Neil.” _Wrong_. “He’s gone.” _Wrong_.  
  
“He went home.” Charlie chokes on the words, wondering when his throat got so dry.  
  
“Charlie,” Cameron whispers. “Neil isn’t coming back. He’s...he died. Oh, god _, Neil._ ” Cameron shudders; Charlie reaches out for him, choking on salt.  
  
“Neil,” Charlie croaks. He doesn’t remember falling, but he’s on the floor, and all of the flavors mix in his throat. He realizes too late that he hasn’t smoked in the last week. “Neil,” he repeats, tasting the ash as he sobs, all of the flavors leaving his body as Cameron holds him.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
 _'If these shadows have offended_ …'   
  
Knox shakes his head, feeling pressure in his ears.  
  
“Knox, I...he’s,” Charlie starts again, his voice cracking on the first syllable. _When did his voice start cracking again_ ? He wonders if Charlie had been smoking, last night or even so early this morning, noticing how _red_ all of him is. _Red for potency,_ he remembers, Charlie’s words swirling by his left ear. _He painted himself red, right before we found Chris_ . Knox smiles, absently, Charlie’s words drowning under the sweetness of Chris’ laugh, the sharpness of her voice saying his name, the bare whisper escaping her lips as her mouth moves to echo the players onstage. _'Think but this, and all is mended…'_ _  
__  
_“Please,” Cameron whispers, his voice mixing with Charlie’s. Knox shakes his head again. _Am I underwater?_ He closes his eyes, trying to remember Cameron’s trick for making your ears pop. _Just don’t keep your eyes closed too long,_ he thinks; he opens his eyes and hears Neil laughing just before he tackles him to the ground, pinning him down as they roll downhill, the rough terrain knocking them from Definitely Drunk to Still Drunk, But With Bruises. _I never did repay the Danburys for that wine,_ he thinks; he jumps when he hears his laugh tearing through everything, raw and ragged and _not okay_.  
  
“Knoxious. Hey,” Charlie says, his voice soft but clear. Knox gasps, feeling the other boy’s arms wrapped tightly around him. He blinks and Charlie is sitting on his legs, Neil dramatically reading the poems that Knox had written for Chris. _She needs to hear this,_ Neil yells, barely hiding the laughter in his voice. _Life’s too short. Carpe!_ Charlie leans forward, using Knox’ body as a drum as the boys chant.  
  
“Knox,” Cameron croaks, his voice throwing off the beat of the memory. “Listen, I need you to listen to me, okay?”  
  
 _'That you have but slumber’d here while these visions did appear…'_  
  
Knox closes his eyes, nodding slowly. “I know, Neil--”  
  
“Neil’s gone,” Charlie whispers. “He’s dead. He...” he breathes, his voice breaking into ragged sobs that pierce the room, sucking all of the air out of it.  
  
 _Neil’s gone._ Knox shakes his head, the words rattling around, tearing behind his eyelids. He blinks, and Neil is walking away from them, not looking back, as Mr. Keating tells them to go. _Don’t make it any worse than it already is_. He blinks, and Neil is ducking backstage, Chris tugging at Knox’ sleeve and whispering _It’s time to go_ as the theater lights slowly come on. He blinks, and Neil is backing away from them, his face obscured by branches, his body a sharp black _nothing_.  
  
The last thing Knox hears is a scream.  
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
“Hey, Pittsie.”  
  
Pitts feels his vision blur as he quickly whips up a hand, stopping the group from barging into the room. He barely registers faces as his eyes dart to take in the pile of blankets & papers next to him, Meeks’ body tangled in the blankets, his fingers still curled to mark their place in a book. He notices Meeks’ glasses are still on; he carefully shifts his weight as he reaches out for them.  
  
“Pitts,” Cameron whispers. Pitts’ head snaps around; he had forgotten about the boys standing at the door.  
  
“We were just,” PItts whispers, his eyes dropping to his feet. He stoops to untangle himself, carefully shifting the rest of the blankets onto the bed before standing up and crossing to the door. “Studying,” he finishes, slowly bringing his gaze back up. He swallows, fully expecting the knowing smirk on Neil’s face.  
  
It’s only then that Pitts does a head count. Cameron stands at the front, feet firmly planted, knees & elbows slightly bent; Pitts wonders what great weight he’s carrying. Cameron’s jaw is tight, his expression neutral. The bloodshot eyes match his own, and Pitts chalks it up to a late night study session. He takes in Charlie next, still dressed in his clothes from last night. _Typical Charlie_. When his eyes land on Knox, his body slumped against the doorframe, he begins to suspect something is _wrong_. Even though he can see over them, he shifts onto his toes, craning his neck and stretching to find the rest of the group; he slams his weight down, joints aching, when the head count doesn’t change.  
  
“Knox,” Pitts starts; he chokes on the next word when Knox looks up, his face & collar stained with tears. He quickly looks over their heads, filing away how _raw_ and _fragile_ Knox is. He closes his eyes, slowly counting. “Charlie,” he whispers, opening his eyes as his head swivels to focus on _anything else_ but the way Knox’s body shakes. “What’s going on?”  
  
Charlie opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Pitts swallows, his eyes fully taking in just how much of a _mess_ he is: hair unbrushed, tie undone, red paint staining his exposed chest. “Pittsie,” Charlie whispers as Pitts counts the cracks in his lips. “Neil’s gone.”  
  
Pitts shakes his head, his gaze locked on the loose thread on Charlie’s chest. _He’s missing a button again._ “He went home, Charlie. I know that.”  
  
“ _Pitts,_ ” Charlie starts, his voice raw, guttural. _Right, he’s Nuwanda now. Not even Neil can call him Charlie anymore, unless he wins_. Pitts takes in the only-partially-horrified look on Charlie’s face when Neil tackles him, writing HELLO MY NAME IS CHARLIE! all over his clothes & whatever skin he can access while the others hold Charlie down, Neil cackling wildly as the marker reaches Charlie’s belt and Charlie yells that Neil can call him whatever he wants. _It took him almost a week to get all the ink off of him._ “Pitts,” Cameron’s voice calls out, breaking through the memory. “Please.”  
  
“I heard you,” Pitts mumbles, checking behind him to see if Meeks is still asleep. He closes his eyes, breathing in time with the rise & fall of Meeks’ chest. _Wow, you really care about him,_ Neil whispers. Pitts blinks, blushing as his gaze drops to his shoes. _I don’t know what you mean, Neil._ Neil’s hand reaches out, resting on Pitts’ shoulder; the touch is so light that Pitts isn’t sure if Neil is human. _Breathe, Pittsie. It’s all right. You’re not the only one who notices things_. Pitts blushes again, trying to tear his gaze away from Meeks’ body, slumped in the corner of the cave, curled around the empty wine bottles. _You take care of us, but you need to let us take care of you, too._ Pitts looks up, trying to gauge just how drunk Neil is. He gasps as Neil’s features blur, the light around him swirling up and out of the cave.  
  
“Pitts.” Knox’s voice hits him in the gut. “Pitts, look at me.” Pitts shivers as hands reach out to rest on his shoulders, his face, his back. He blinks, the room slowly starting to spin as he tries not to focus too long on any of the boys’ faces. “Neil isn’t coming back.”  
  
Pitts coughs, trying to breathe despite the air in the room being gone for longer than he can remember. “Knox, he--”  
  
“He’s gone,” Charlie whispers. Pitts winces at Charlie’s intense gaze, trying not to notice how badly he and Knox are shaking.  
  
“No.” Pitts blinks slowly, trying to find something to focus on to slow the waves in the floorboards.  
  
“Pitts. Yes,” Cameron says, and that’s when Pitts realizes that Cameron’s hands are the ones at his back. He can’t remember when he started to sink down, his knees tucked under his chin. “I’m so sorry, Pitts. He died. Neil is _gone_.”  
  
Pitts blinks, and he’s back in the cave with Neil. _He’s right here,_ he slurs, gesturing wildly and calling up to the boys at the mouth of the cave; they’d gone out to replenish their supplies, not bothering to count who was with them before stumbling through the woods. _He’s here!_ He tries to stand up, but a sharp pain rips through his body; he must’ve hit his head again. _Pitts, I have to go now_. He turns his head, gasping when he sees a blurry, pale thing where Neil had just been standing. _Like a ghost,_ Pitts thinks; he wipes at his eyes, wondering when he started crying. _Promise me you’ll take care of each other, okay?_

Pitts blinks, stumbling as he stands up, wrenching himself free from the group. Everything is too _sharp_ , too much. All he can think about is how he’s going to tell Meeks.  
  
“Pitts?” Meeks calls from behind him, his voice clear. Pitts turns his head, gasping when he sees the other boy standing behind him, his arms outstretched. _Like he’s ready to catch me_. He looks up, choking on a sob as he looks at Neil, the light carving his features on Meeks’ frame.  
  
“Breathe. It’s all right,” the figure whispers.  
  
Pitts is vaguely aware of his body sinking into the mattress before everything goes black.  
  


\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Meeks. Psst. Hey, Meeks._  
  
Meeks blinks, rubbing his eyes. He’s not sure whose brilliant idea it was to bring the pipes down into the cave after the last time, the smoke mixing with sweat, food smuggled under coats and in pockets, Knox’s new cologne, and the musty, damp smell of the cave itself. He takes off his glasses, wiping them on his sleeve; by the time he puts them back on, a new cloud of smoke is swirling up the mouth of the cave, blurring the features of the boys sitting across from him. He picks up his own pipe, absently bringing it to his mouth as he watches Pitts: the way his lips curl around the pipe, holding it in place as he reaches for a match; the way his adam’s apple moves, just slightly, smooth against the harsh angles of his throat; his fingers, long & calloused, holding the match so carefully before striking it; the way the flame dances on his features as he lights the pipe.

 _If you stare any harder, you’re going to set this whole place on fire_. Meeks flinches at the warmth of Neil’s breath at his throat as he holds a lit match in front of Meeks’ face, lighting his pipe for him. He blushes slightly, curling his lips around the pipe, grateful for something to do while he processes what Neil said. _Shit_ , he thinks, wondering where his carefully constructed excuse has gone.  
  
 _Relax,_ Neil whispers close to his ear; Meeks wonders when Neil started drinking coffee. _I see it too._ Neil bumps his shoulder against him, grinning conspiratorially around his own pipe. _He’s a poet._ _  
__  
__Neil,_ Meeks whispers, his eyes darting around the cave, wondering who else knew. _I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just staring into space._ _  
__  
__You’re thinking._ Neil shifts, crouching closer; Meeks wonders how many people are watching them right now, trying to figure out what’s going on. _You’re always thinking. What are you thinking about? What are you so worried about?_  
  
Meeks blinks, letting out a sigh when he realizes he’d been dreaming. He carefully marks a passage with a piece of paper, removing his hand; he inhales and stretches, preparing for cramps. It’s then that he realizes he’s not sleeping in his bed. _It doesn’t smell like me_ , he thinks, inhaling again. The pillow smells like the leaves after rain, peppermint, smoke, and something he can’t define in any language. He opens his eyes again, shifting the books around until he sees familiar handwriting: _Pitts. We fell asleep._ He carefully reaches out, checking to make sure that Pitts is still asleep; he’ll just quietly get up, clean up the books, and settle into his own bed. His fingers curl around the edge of the mattress. _Pitts?_  
  
“No,” he hears Pitts say. He sits up, untangling his legs and moving the books into the empty space next to him. He inhales, holding his breath; the room smells like vomit. He swallows back his own bile, burying his head against the pillow and taking in the familiar, comforting smells until his stomach settles.  
  
“Pitts. Yes.” Meeks sits up, jumping out of the bed as quickly as he can, when he hears Cameron’s voice. _Shit shit shit,_ he thinks, trying to think of how to explain the situation, when he notices the other two in the room. He takes a step forward, wincing when the smell hits him again: vomit, mucus, sweat, salt. _Something else,_ he thinks. He watches PItts sink down, the way his sharp angles fold, his knees tucking under his chin. “I’m so sorry, Pitts. He died. Neil is _gone_.”  
  
Meeks closes his eyes as the space fills with smoke. He swallows, trying to keep track of his heartbeat. Neil looks at him, warm & patient, not at all judgmental. Meeks looks away just for a moment, checking to see if any of the other boys notice the way he’s watching Pitts. He gasps as he watches the smoke curling up, momentarily obscuring him; Meeks wonders if he really has set him on fire. _Meeks?_ _  
__  
_He blinks, watching as Pitts wrenches himself free from the group, stumbling as he stands up. “Pitts?” He calls out to him, trying to hide the panic in his voice. Pitts turns so quickly that he stumbles, and Meeks feels the bile rising again as he stretches his arms towards him.  
  
Pitts chokes on a sob, and Meeks can taste the smoke. “Breathe. It’s all right,” he whispers; he’s not sure who it’s meant for: Pitts, the boys in the room, or himself.  
  
Pitts stumbles backwards into Meeks’ arms, allowing a few sobs to escape as they hold each other. Meeks guides him to the bed, pushing the books onto the floor. Pitts sinks down into the mattress, his limbs still tangled around Meeks. “Don’t go,” he whispers; his breath smells like something _wounded_. _  
__  
_Meeks closes his eyes, and he’s back in the cave. He watches Pitts spit out a sip of wine, reacting to a joke Cameron just told, the sounds snapping through the smoke. Pitts wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and picks up the wine bottle. He looks over at Meeks, still laughing. His smile changes just slightly, and he nods before taking a swig from the bottle. It happens so quickly, so easily, that Meeks almost misses it.  
  
 _Meeks, what are you so worried about?_ Neil whispers, his voice already far away, his breath the smell of cold & ash. Meeks keeps his focus on Pitts as he leans forward, standing up to close the space between them.  
  
 _Everything_ , Meeks whispers.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Neil’s dead._

The words hit him square in the chest, knocking loose the breath he wasn’t even aware he had been holding in—a harsh, jagged rush cutting up his throat and past his teeth. For all the force he felt behind it, Todd’s gasp falls somewhere in his lap. He wonders if the others even register it. He waits a few beats before moving his head, blinking against the now-spinning faces that fill the room. Each of these men— _boys_ , he corrects himself—stare at him so intensely. As if they’ve never seen him before. He feels like a fragile thing under their careful, unblinking watch. _A woodland creature,_ he hears Neil say. His hands suddenly throb with pain. Todd flexes his fingers; he wonders how long he’s had them balled into fists. Eight perfect half-moons stare back up at him, pink against the milky paleness of his skin. He runs his thumb across one of the marks, finding it wet. He’s bleeding.

Todd looks up again, his muscles already tired as they twist into something between horrified clarity & confusion. He clears his throat once, tasting rust, before it happens.

He laughs.

The sound rips through his body, raw & guttural, as he shakes; he wonders if the shaking is all him, or if one of the boys has taken hold of him, trying to snap him out of it. Todd coughs, resting his face in his hands. His hands feel wet now, all the way to the tips of his fingers. He didn’t realize he’s crying, nor does he know when the tears began.

“Todd,” a voice says, gently testing the air. He can’t untangle the sound to figure out where it had come from. Everything has taken on the quality of being heard underwater. Todd absently wonders if he’s drowning; his lungs feel like they’re collapsing, and his throat is chafed.

He takes a deep, shaking breath before letting a hand drop. His other snaps, instinctively, to grab the other boy’s wrist; the weight on his elbow is too much, too _solid_. “I need to go,” he whispers, staring at Charlie.

Charlie stares back at him, blinking once before nodding. He retreats, resting his hands on his hips before standing. Todd watches as he turns. He nods once to each of the remaining boys and tosses Todd his coat. It was done so quickly, as if Charlie had known what had to be done before Todd could even process anything. He wonders how many times Charlie has done this before, including today. The room spins as Charlie’s hand comes into focus again, stretched out in the space between them.

“Of course,” Charlie says with a shrug. His eyes are glassy with tears, bloodshot—from crying, or not sleeping, something else, or all of the above—and he bounces on the balls of his feet, just slightly, though his focus on Todd is intense warmth. Todd wonders if he’d spoken his thought aloud, or if Charlie is responding to his need to get out of this room.

“Of course,” Charlie says again, leaning in slightly this time. Todd lets the boy take his hand, pulling him up & out of his bed. The blankets fall in a heap on the floor, tangling against his ankles. Before he can glance over and catch the way Neil’s bed hasn’t been disturbed— _won’t_ be—the others cross into the room. Knox nearly knocks Charlie over to get to Todd, but he holds him off. “Not here.” His voice is firm, soft; it doesn’t feel like Charlie’s.

Todd blinks once more. The light shifts, brushing over Charlie’s features.  
  
“Neil?” Todd leans forward, his knees shaking as he rests a hand against the boy’s cheek, brushing his thumb at the corner of his lips. _Please,_ he thinks. _We need to get out of here._

Todd winces as a hand rests over his, rubbing at his knuckles. _No, not Neil. Charlie._ “I know,” Charlie says with a smile. “Of course,” he says again. Todd wonders again if he said something, or if Charlie just _knew_ \--the way Charlie always did, the way he always saw _through_ him--or if Todd missed a silent exchange between Charlie and the rest of the group. “Let’s go.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The fresh snow is too much.

Todd hates that the snow reveals where he’s been and where he’s going. There was no way to quietly escape when you had five, sometimes six, other people walking with you, somehow aware of your absence even when you were never fully present. He hates that he can look at the footprints around him and know exactly where each of them stands in the pack. Neil or Charlie lead, Meeks & Pitts stay a step or two behind, and Cameron brings up the rear. In the beginning, Todd tried to be last. This plan backfired when, on the way to the very first meeting, Neil handed the map off and went back to make sure Todd was still there. _You’re going to love it, I promise,_ Neil had said, throwing his arm over Todd’s shoulders. _I’m not letting you go without a fight_. Todd smiles, remembering the warmth of Neil’s body against his; the way their strides adjusted to sync up, the both of them laughing as they tripped over roots; the way Neil’s arm stayed around him all the way to the cave and then, when it was time to go in and Neil’s hand was between his shoulder blades, gently encouraging him to keep going, it was at once the most gentle & _sure_ thing Todd had ever felt. _Solid,_ he thought. He hated that he could look at the footprints and tell who was absent every time they had a meeting: Knox off to dinner with another alum; Cameron studying; Charlie absent for some vague reason (though they each had their suspicions); Neil running late after rehearsal; Meeks & Pitts working in half-whispers, taking up two tables in the common area, Pitts’ limbs stretched out like a protective barrier around Meeks and their secret plans.

What he hates most, right now, is that Neil’s footprints are already gone, covered by this latest snowfall. The wind whips around him; he can feel fresh snow biting against his face. He shivers, desperately trying to hold onto the warmth. _Neil, please,_ he thinks, and suddenly he’s stumbling along, tripping over roots hidden in the snow.  
  
Todd closes his eyes, trying to steady himself. He tries to take a deep breath, inhaling slowly. He sputters as the air escapes him again, his eyes burning.  
  
 _You promised._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The thing he hates the most about the snow is the way it makes everything taste. Cold. _Dead_.  
  
Charlie is vaguely aware of his movements as he stumbles forward towards the dock, his eyes never leaving Todd. “Don’t get too close right now,” he whispers behind him. He licks his lips, trying to brush away the gathering snow. _God damn it,_ he thinks, tasting the blood at the corner of his mouth. He can’t remember if it’s his or Todd’s; all he knows is that it tastes too _warm_.

Todd stops, finally, turning to look behind him. Before Charlie can move, he watches Todd’s eyes taking in each different expression of concern, his focus stopping directly on him. Charlie sucks in a breath, trying not to notice the heat coming off of Todd; it tastes like a wildfire.  
  
“Cameron,” Todd calls out, a half-question. Charlie shifts, his arms outstretched as he chances a look behind him. _He’s not here,_ he realizes too late, whipping his head around. “Cameron,” Todd says again, and it tastes like charcoal.  
  
“He’s okay,” Charlie calls back, his voice cracking. Charlie can taste the shift in his tone, the way he almost imitates Cameron, so sure of everything. “Todd, it’s going to be okay.”  
  
Todd looks up into the snow, blinking slowly. Charlie watches him, taking another step forward, his skin burning. _He’s stardust,_ he thinks, smiling at the memory. _God, it drives me crazy that he can’t see it, Charlie. Not like you and I can._ He swallows, choking on salt, the pain snaking down to settle in his stomach.  
  
Todd slowly brings his head down, his eyes unblinking. Charlie takes a step forward, wincing as the snow crunches under him; he feels twigs & leaves break below the ice. _No sudden movements,_ he hears Neil laugh against his neck, the wine staining his tongue.  
  
 _He’s like a woodland creature,_ Charlie hears himself say around a piece of chocolate.  
  
 _Exactly,_ Neil says. _You have to be careful, or you’ll get your heart torn out. He probably bites!_ Charlie laughs as Neil’s teeth graze his skin, his arms wrapping around Charlie as they lurch forward, stumbling into the room. Todd laughs as the boys push him backwards, their bodies tangling with the blankets before the door _clicks_ shut.  
  
“He promised,” Todd whispers, snapping him out of his memory. Charlie brings a hand up to his mouth, wiping the snow from his lips and stifling a sob.  
  
He can’t taste the chocolate anymore.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything grows cloudy as the snow falls from Todd’s eyelashes, painting fresh streaks down his face before pooling onto his shirt. He chances a look down. He’s still in pajamas; he doesn’t even remember putting his coat or shoes on. He tries to count how many steps are between where he stands and where Charlie holds the others back. The snow has covered Todd’s tracks; all that possibly remains of his trek are the prints that have been re-formed by the others following behind him.

There’s no trace of him left in the snow, none that he can easily identify as his own. There’s no trace of Neil, either. _They’ll never find us,_ he hears Neil whisper in his ear; he closes his eyes as he sinks into the memory. _Just stay right here with me. Right here in the quiet._ Todd shivers, pushing at the cold hands that snake up his shirt & tangle in his hair. _Just us,_ another voice says, lips pressed to his ear. _Carpe diem,_ they both chant. _What do you think about that?_ Todd looks up again, his eyes passing from one face to the next as the snow continues to cover him, quietly erasing everything.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispers before collapsing, his chest heaving as the world comes back into view.

As quickly as he falls, the others swarm around him. Todd can barely process the movement; everything keeps going in & out of focus. Todd lets his eyes dart up and focus on Pitts, crouching a safe distance away from him, pulling his shape out of the white around them. Something nearly knocks him over and he thinks he’ll shatter again, until he registers the arms around him. Knox holds onto Todd; Todd wonders if Knox is holding him together, or if Todd is anchoring Knox somehow. Meeks is somewhere to his left, quiet but present; he can tell from the slight change in Pitts’ expression. Charlie is to his right. Snow is on his mouth, soothing hands all over him.  
  
Todd feels himself spinning as words muffle around him, his own getting lost as they mix with the voices of the other boys. It’s all too much, too _raw,_ all _wrong_.  
  
All Todd knows is that he has to get out of there.  
  
So he does.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

“Let him go,” Charlie calls behind him, channeling Neil’s command & confidence; he hopes that it’s convincing enough to hold the procession back. _I wasn’t made for this, Neil,_ he thinks, licking his lips against the cold and tasting new, hot tears. _I can’t do this without you_. “We’ll catch up.” He winces as his voice cracks again.  
  
“Charlie, we can’t lose him,” Knox whispers; Charlie hadn’t even registered that the group hasn’t moved at all since Todd broke away. Charlie turns, his knees buckling as Knox lurches forward, tangling his arms around him. He lets out a small laugh as they sink further into the snow, the alcohol on Knox’s breath _very noticeable_ as it wafts into Charlie’s face.  
  
“We’re not losing him. Or _anybody_ ,” Pitts whispers. “We have to take care of each other.” Charlie watches as Pitts carefully pushes himself up, untangling his limbs to stand at his full height; it all happens so fluidly that Charlie lets out another small laugh. _Here’s the woodland creature we were talking about, Neil_.  
  
“Of course, PIttsie,” Charlie smiles, his voice warm. He takes Pitts’ outstretched hand, Meeks taking the other as he pulls them up. “Knox, you in?”  
  
Knox grins as he takes Charlie’s hand, letting out a dramatic grunt as he’s pulled out of the snow. “I’m in,” he whispers; he swallows, clears his throat, and tries again. “I’m in,” Knox repeats, giving Charlie’s hand a squeeze. Charlie squeezes back, not letting go.  
  
“Pittsie?” Charlie turns to look over his shoulder, already squeezing the hand that still holds his, so carefully but so solidly. Pitts returns the squeeze, his vision blurred with tears. “Meeks?” He holds up their joined hands. Meeks inhales shakily, slowly bringing up his & Pitts’ hands, their fingers interlaced.  
  
“Okay then,” Charlie nods. “Hope Cameron is ready for us.”  
  
The group turns, facing the dock, the snow gathering around them.  
  
 _There’s no turning back,_ Neil whispers as the snow covers the last of their footprints. _It’s now or never._  
  
The trees shake as they lurch forward, sprinting towards the cave.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Todd doesn’t know if the temperature has dropped, if he’s growing numb from the snow soaking through his shirt, or if it’s something else. He lets out a breath, waiting for the familiar cloud to blow past his lips and hang in the air in front of him. It disappears almost too quickly. Todd keeps moving, ducking his head slightly against the storm.

His ankle snags on a branch, sending him into a tumble. He tucks into himself, rolling downhill; he knows there’s a flat area coming, where he can regain his footing. He cries out at the last rattling tumble before he falls flat on his back. He waits for everything to stop spinning before getting up, coughing; when he wipes the back of his hand, he tries to ignore the shock of red that stands out against the blue-white of his skin.

He keeps walking, his knees shaking as he half-crawls the rest of the way to the cave. With a shuddering sigh, he ducks his head, lowering himself down the slippery footholds until he’s low enough to sit, letting himself fall into a heap.  
  
“Todd?” Todd rolls over, his hands shaking. “Neil,” he stutters, looking up for the source of the other voice. “There you are.”  
  
“Todd,” the voice repeats. Todd lets out a shudder as Cameron wraps a blanket around him, pressing something hot into his hands. He wonders how long Cameron has been here, if he knew Todd was coming here before he did. _Oh god, was this planned?_  
  
“Cameron,” Todd whispers. He puts the mug down-- _coffee,_ he realizes, _with a special ingredient_ \--and grabs his hands, pulling him in for an embrace. Todd shakes as he sobs, clutching the back of Cameron’s sweater. He sobs harder when Cameron returns the embrace, rubbing his back; he never took him for a hugger.  
  
“It’s going to be okay, Todd,” Cameron whispers. “We’re going to figure this out, okay? I know it doesn’t make sense right now, but there has to be an explanation.”  
  
“Neil wouldn’t,” Todd starts, his voice lost in Cameron’s shoulder. “He--”  
  
“Shh,” Cameron whispers. “Listen.” He sits back, looking up towards the mouth of the cave and smiling. “Gang’s all here,” Cameron calls up, gently pushing Todd’s back. Todd moves with him, sitting on the opposite side of the cave.  
  
Todd watches as the other four boys climb down, one after the other. They sit in a tight circle as Cameron offers up more coffee, pulling the extra ingredient-- _whiskey?! You’ve been holding out,_ RICHARD _,_ Charlie laughs--out and settling it on his coat. Pitts pulls a set of matches out of his pocket, tossing it to Cameron so he can relight the fire at the center of the cave.  
  
“So,” Cameron says, clearing his throat. “I’m not very good at these things. I’m not sure what the right words are, or how to explain this, uh…” His words trail off as he gestures, vaguely, behind him. “But I think I know what Neil would do.”  
  


Charlie picks up the bottle of whiskey, taking a swig coughing before passing it around, quickly chasing it with coffee. “Hear, hear,” Todd whispers, allowing a short laugh to escape his lips before it turns into a sob.  
  
“Well, yes,” Cameron laughs, giving Todd’s knee a quick squeeze before standing back up. “But I had another idea in mind.” He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket, carefully unfolding it, his fingers shaking slightly.  
  
“I don’t have a book, or a saxophone, or anything flashy,” Cameron sighs. “But I do have this. _‘The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.’”_ Cameron pauses, looking up, his eyes meeting Todd’s. The pause lasts just a beat too long; the boys laugh.  
  
“ _‘I too am not a bit tamed’,”_ Todd continues, moving to stand next to Cameron. “' _I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.’“_ He pauses, looking from Cameron to the rest of the group. They all stand, throwing their heads back, their voices tearing through their bodies to swirl out of the cave.  
  
They exit the cave, one by one, after the fire goes out.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this work comes from "How Solemn As One By One," from the collection Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman.
> 
> The lines that Knox hears Neil recite (starting with "If these shadows have offended") are from Puck's closing monologue, from the final scene of A Midsummernight's Dream, by William Shakespeare.
> 
> The lines recited by Cameron and Todd in the final scene are from Verse 52 of "Song of Myself," from the collection Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman.


End file.
